A Cupful of Irises
by Miss Selah
Summary: A cautionary tale of why you should be afraid of faeries told in 3 parts. Part One - Hindsight. Two Sarah's meet in a simple room.


Author: Miss Selah

Summary: Two Sarahs meet in a simple room. Memories aren't always romantic, but sometimes they can still be beautiful.

Genre: Family / Romance / Angst

A/N: This was supposed to be a Christmas exchange for the lovely Velvet_Sometimes. We both missed the dokuga holiday exchange, so we decided to do Labyrinth instead... but it's simply too dark. So that's coming later; but for now, a 3-shot.

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**Part One**

_Hindsight_

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An old woman sat on a small, velvet stool and gazed out a window, her long snow-white hair illuminated by the sun so that it looked all the world as though a halo had appeared and wrapped around her thin hair. There was something regal in the manner with which she held herself, as though she was the matriarch of the Romanov line itself - but she was nothing so spectacular, much as the view from her seat wasn't so spectacular; just a bridge over a trickling creek that connected two sidewalks and an apartment complex on the other side - but she remembered that once, a very long time ago, it had been something worthy of note. Once, when she was much younger, there had been a park there that she had played at. A glade, a creek... oh, but those things were long gone now. The city had grown up around the park and eventually had overtaken it. Most of the world, too, she thought, and turned her eyes away from the window and to her hands.

She smiled. These, too, had once been something worthy of note. Her long, graceful fingers had once been very adept and beautiful. Her once milky skin was speckled with yellow spots, now, and her dainty fingers were now marked with knots where her knuckles had swollen from her arthritis. Still, no ring had ever marked her hand. While other women in the facility still wore their wedding bands like armor, even if their husbands were long since gone, she'd never once found true love. Well; perhaps once she had, but that was so long ago, and she had made a lifetime of decisions in between him and her. A lifetime that she would not change for anything. She closed her eyes, smiling wistfully. She'd had everything she could have ever wished for, and still; sometimes she wondered what would have happened if only she had made love a priority, instead of her career.

Her walls were decorated with movie posters from shows that she had been in, in her youth. A Technicolor remake of Casablanca, with her in the lead. Dramas, comedies, action films... but her real triumph had always been the stage. She supposed that if she thought about it, it ran in her family. She had been the most noteworthy of the women to perform, and _oh, _in her day, she had been _fantastic. _

Not anymore, she thought with a sad facsimile of a smile. There was nothing spectacular in this simple room, with motes dancing in the light as dust collected on trinkets of an era decades over, things that only relics like her even remembered.

There was a knock at the door, and the old woman turned to face it. Her vision was mostly gone, stolen early by inoperable cataracts so that she could only see things that were up close of very well lit, but she could still make out shapes at a distance. "Who's that, then?" the woman asked, turning on her stool to face the visitor. "Someone to see me?"

"Yes, Ms. Williams," came the lilting irish voice of her nursing assistant, speaking just a touch too loudly to be polite, as though she thought that she was going deaf as well as blind. Still, she tried not to be offended. The nurse was only trying to help. "You have a visitor."

When her vision has first started to go, it had been her nose that had picked up the slack. When she was younger, her brother had jokingly said that she'd had the nose of a bloodhound, and it was even more true now - and the scent of the woman had proceeded the nurse's words. The fresh and sweet scent of cinnamon and apples wafted into the room, and she would have known in an instant who her visitor was. The scent was so pungent that the old woman opened her mouth to inhale and had the distinct impression of biting into a fresh apple, the juice running down her throat as she savored the crisp taste. She smiled. "Come in, come in." She arranged herself artfully on her stool and smiled at the dark shape that entered the room and sat down on the bed. "Lean in closer, girl; I want to see that beautiful face of yours."

The young woman did as she was told and leaned in close. Slowly, the shapes became more clear. Dark, intelligent eyes stared up at her from under long lashes. Both were in stark contrast from her moon burnt skin, pale and milky as a bucket of fresh cream. Long, straight dark hair fell in two long strands on either side of her face and her bangs were pinned back up and out of her eyes, held at her temple with a shining barrette in the shape of a bird in flight. A mouth the color of overripe strawberries opened to speak, but the old woman pressed a wrinkled finger to her lips, shushing her with a tut.

"You've always smelled of Christmas morning," the old woman smiled. "The smell of you brings back many happy years around a Christmas tree, with father and grandfather, with my brother and his family... and of course, you. How have you been, darling?"

"I've been wonderful," she said, and the happy sigh on her voice confirmed it. "How are they treating you."

"Can't complain," though her eyes were milky, her smile still reached them. "Did you bring any of _those?" _

The younger woman tutted. "The nurse says I need to stop bringing them to you, but..." there was a shuffling, and she could see that the other girl was reaching into her thick coat pocket. "Here."

She wasted no time. Unwrapping it, she slipped a chocolate ball into her mouth and smiled as it melted on her tongue. "You would think that they would let me have all the chocolate that I want, at my age. But no; they're worried about how all those sweets will affect my health. Bah!" She threw her bone thin arms in the air. "At my age, I think I deserve a sweet, don't you?"

"Of course," a sly look over her shoulder, to make sure that the nurse was out of sight before she lowered her voice. "_Aunt _Sarah_," _she said with a sardonic little laugh.

"She's gone then, is she?" the old woman asked the young girl, and she made out the motion of her head nodding.

"You were named, for me, you know," a quiet voice, but with a band of steel. "We are so much alike, but so different."

An ancient smile ran parallel on both of the women's faces.

"I can't see very well anymore, but I still have my nose. Right now, it smells like," the old woman inhaled deeply and smiled, "fresh cut grass. Earth worms. Wet soil. Tell me, Sarah; is it raining?"

The young Sarah replied. "Do you want it to be?"

A hesitation, then, a nod.

A regretful sigh.

Two Sarahs sitting alone in a simple room, staring at their hands. They'd had a lifetime of words, and now, towards the end, it was difficult to find the right ones.

"Do you remember that summer when I was sixteen, when you came to visit? When there was a park here?"

A frown formed around a mouthful of regrets. "You know I don't like to talk about..."

"I know, but I never could stop thinking about what happened. I mean, that's when... that's when _that _happened to you."

A laugh, deceptively youthful with the sweet staccato sound like embers on a fireplace popping. "It... it was a long time ago."

"But those days were precious to me; I could never forget."

There was a hesitation, and for a moment she almost wished that she hadn't said anything. Then, a quiet voice of acceptance broke the silence.

"I'm glad."

There was a silence that stretched in between them, but it was not awkward. It was the silence of two women who were sharing the same memories, and as they sat there, the years between them melted away until it really did seem like it was only yesterday...


End file.
